The Emperor's Son
by ashangel101010
Summary: Prequel to "The Magic Spoon" story. When Rama is born, he becomes Sate's son.
1. Triclops

The Emperor's Son Prologue

* * *

Suggested Theme:

Main Theme- The God of Sleep Has Made His House by Current 93

* * *

When Sate Pestage hears his comlink go off, he presumes the Emperor needs him. And he'll always aid his Emperor. Always.

"Sly Moore?" He furrows his beetle-black brows when he sees the name on the screen. He has not seen the Emperor's _secretary_ since last New Year Fete Week. He knows that she hasn't fallen out of the Emperor's favor or else he would've taken care of her by now. The last thing he heard about her was that she was _retiring_ to the Ghost Nebula and that was over six months ago.

 _"_ _Maybe she's tired of being Queen of the Empire and wanted some R &R. Getting banged every night by the Emperor must've worn her out." _Kinman cruelly remarked and laughed when Sate turned furiously red.

 _"_ _Please, Palpatine would never go for someone as…unusual as her."_ He recalls retorting back before angrily storming off for his office.

"Moore, why did you comm me?" He hears the crackling sound of static like Moore is in another galaxy.

" _Get to my manor on Ghost Nebula. I've sent you the coordinates._ " He hears the datapad on his desk ping with a message.

 _Ghost Nebula takes about half a day in hyperspace to reach. I'm not wasting twelve hours for her._ He plans to tell her exactly that.

" _It's for Palpatine._ " He sits right up in his bed.

" _Hurry_." Her paper thin voice whispers, and the line goes silent. He slips out from his lavender sheets and quickly dresses.

His Emperor needs him.

* * *

The fog is thicker than the darkness of Umbara; it roils the dim land like a plague. Sate lands blindly on the coordinates that Moore gave him. He's happy to hear the clunk of solid ground and not the gnashing teeth of some hidden monster.

He walks down the landing ramp. There's tension in his limbs, not from the unknown creatures lurking in the fog, but from Moore's message.

 _"_ _It's for Palpatine."_ Those words have almost as much power over him as the Emperor.

 _What's for Palpatine? Was it a special mission? Was it an ancient Sith relic? Why did she call me? Is it connected to me? Connected to me and Palpatine?_ Between him and the Emperor is…service. He serves Palpatine like the best assistant that he is and gets nothing but the satisfaction of serving such a great man.

He collects such greatness like a jar of moths.

 _A spine-chilling smile. A flash of bone-white skin. A whisper of Faustian seduction._

Will Moore break the jar and release all of his moths?

He scoffs.

 _I won't allow…that ghost of a woman to…to—_

He curses when the toe of his booted foot smashes against a stone step in the sea of mist. He is just as blind planetside as he was in the landing, so he had to rely on his sense of touch (and pain) to navigate his way up the winding, ancient steps.

Once he reaches the top, the mist lessens for him to make out the outlines of a crumbling manor. The manor reminds him of abandon mansions in gothic horrors; there is the stereotypical a thousand pointed-arched windows that act more like mirrors into the manor's evil soul than letting actual light in. There is the dingy gray paint that has peeled after centuries of horrible weather and massacres. It also unnervingly huge enough to suggest that a hundred people could dwell in its strange halls, but there's really only one occupant.

He makes his way to the door, a wooden monstrosity that needs two ghoulish doorknockers, and is surprised to see it wide open. Like Moore knew he would actually come.

He takes a quick glance inside; he sees the tiny flicker of a candle on a table that is a meter away from the door. He touches the knife he has hidden up his sleeve and goes inside for the same reason he came to this Dark World.

 _For Palpatine._

* * *

The candle, upon closer inspection, is a tealight. Nowadays, tealights are used by religious organizations or as decoration. _Palpatine used to keep his tea pot warm with them when he was a senator; sometimes, he would look up from his datapad to watch the fire consume the tiny white candles. The tiny fires, red and gold like Palpatine's hair, teased heat into the Tyrian pot._

He takes the tealight and knows that the small flame is like a firefly, only providing enough light for him to see a centimeter in the dark sea.

He moves slowly for he does not know where to go. His eyes dart around, expecting to uncover some hidden danger. Or Moore.

 _Gray are the walls. Gray are the floors. Gray are the cobwebs. Gray, gray, gray everywhere. Just like Moore's cloaks._ He frowns deeply at the bland color.

 _Palpatine would never…be with her. She's not his type. She's not fashionable. She's bland. She's not beautiful. She's cold. She's quiet. She's nothing._ But Palpatine entrusted her with something.

 _"_ _It's for Palpatine."_ Her voice, like the rattling of brittle bones, fills him with white, hot anger. He wishes that the tealight was a torch and he can just set the entire decrepit manor on fire.

Let the ghost burn in her tomb.

His dark fantasy is cut short by a wail. He nearly drops the tealight when he distinguishes the wail.

 _It's a baby's cries!_

He runs towards the cries. His mind reminds him that this could be a trap. _Moore left the door open, left a lit candle, and now, suddenly, there's a baby crying in this haunted place! This. Is. A. Trap!_

But he's sprinting, and the cries get louder.

 _Those cries are real. Doctored cries have a slight static sound like speakers unable to handle powerful sounds. These cries sound exactly like my baby cousins' cries! Howling for their first breaths!_

He knows that baby is real, and he'll save it from her. _Has she gone mad? Is she going to sacrifice that baby? Was that what she meant? Is she going to sacrifice a baby for Palpatine!?_

He reaches the room that is the source of the crying. A gray door separates him from the baby. He goes for the door knob and turns it, happy to hear no resistance. Bright lights blind him for a moment. But only for a moment.

 _Oh Force…_

He sees Sly Moore naked on an operating table with a distended belly and legs in stirrups. The baby, the baby whose cries he heard, is right between her outstretched legs. It is coated in thick, red blood and crying; its umbilical cord has not been cut.

 _Blood…so much blood. Too much._

Blood is still coming from between Moore's legs. Far too much for the…the—

" _Pestage._ " He finally peels his eyes from the blood and looks up at Moore's face. Her face is white, whiter than Palpatine's skin, and lined far more heavily than Palpatine's. Her lips are cracked like her voice.

" _He's Palpatine's_." Are her last words. The baby's cries turn into mournful mewls like an orphaned gualama.

He takes out his knife, goes to the baby, cuts the umbilical cord, and takes the bloodied baby boy to the sink.

 _The baby needs to be cleaned._ He manages to think again. He turns the handle and waits until the water is lukewarm to wash the baby. The baby squirms as the water cleans him of his—Moore's blood.

 _White hair like Moore's. Three green eyes like no one's. And…_ His heart breaks, but his mouth speaks.

"Oh Force…you have his nose."

* * *

 **Author's Comments-** Here are the links:

This wonderful site helped me figure out how long it would take to reach the Ghost Nebula from Coruscant and it took a little more than half a day if the person went at 29 hyper speed, which I don't know if that's an impossible speed or slower than the average ship, so let's say Sate has a very speedy ship: a href=" navcomp/"Link/a

For those of you who are starting this series from chronological order, or this is your first time encountering this series, here is an image of Triclops. In Legends/Expanded Universe, Triclops is the biological son of Sly Moore and Emperor Palpatine via a genetic experiment. In Legends, his father gives him to the Prophets of the Dark Side who train him as an Emperor's Eye. And eventually he disappoints his Dark Side Mad father and becomes a slave in the Kessel Mines. Needless to say, his life continues to get worse and worse after that. However, this is an AU where Palpatine chooses to give him to Sate to raise: a href=" . /starwars/images/7/78/Triclops_ /revision/latest?cb=20130913192216"Link/a

Woo-hoo, I finally get to the origin story of how Sate gets Rama. Man, this took forever to write because I just did not know how to set this chapter up since the Wookie gave me scant details surrounding the circumstances of Rama/Triclops's birth; all I really have is that Sly Moore died giving birth to him on Ghost Nebula and that it was a genetic experiment. So bright side is that Sly and Palpatine didn't have sex to make Triclops/Rama, but Sate does not know that and just agonizes about that in the next chapter. Also, Palpatine meets his newborn son and has some decisions to make!

Also, huge thanks to Darth_Videtur for rp-ing this AU with me because this is quite an interesting AU I'm delving into.


	2. Rama

The Emperor's Son Chapter One

* * *

Suggested Theme:

Main Theme- When I Met You by David Bowie

* * *

Sate Pestage is an assassin first; he's been raised since childhood to be keep his nerves in check. Which is why he did not run the pfassk out of Moore's manor. It also helps that he has Palpatine's mutant baby in his arms. A baby that is violently shivering.

 _Clothes! He needs clothes! Where—_ He takes in the rest of room for the first time. Right by the door, there is Moore's colorless Shadowcloak covering something on the white tiled floor. He picks up the cloak and finds a metal crate filled with diapers, wipes, powder, baby bottles, and infant formula.

 _Did she knew this was going to happen? That she would die just as I arrived here?_ The baby lets out a weak whine, which prompts Sate to immediately grab a diaper and the Shadowcloak. He goes back to the sink and gently lays the baby on the white counter. He then diapers him and wraps him up in Moore's cloak since he did not see any baby clothes in the crate.

"Are you happy now?" He asks the newborn, and the baby gives him a huge, gummy smile. It takes his breath away just like—

 _Don't let yourself get attached; he's…the Emperor's._ Oh, he feels his broken heart being grounded into the ashes of his romantic dreams.

"Mmph!" The baby lets out a soft cry causing Sate to look down at him. There are tears in the newborn's emerald eyes.

"Oh no, sweetie, it's not your fault! It's just….." He looks back at Moore's corpse and then back to the baby. He sighs to finish his sentence. The baby whines again, and Sate realizes that perhaps the baby's cry earlier was out of hunger, not guilt.

He puts the baby on the counter and goes back to the crate to snatch a bottle and the baby formula. He breathes a sigh of relief when he sees that the bottle is a self-heating one. _At least Moore sprung for the good brand!_

He fills the bottle with tap water from the sink and then mixes in the formula. He only has to shake the bottle to get it to heat up.

"Mmmmph!" The baby cries once more, and Sate picks him up. He presses the nipple of the bottle to the baby's thin lips. The baby sucks on the nipple eagerly and makes contented noises.

"All you needed was milk, didn't you, little guy? Once you're fed, I'll take you to your…father." Sate shudders at the future, while the baby finishes feeding.

"Happy?" The baby lets out a small burp and smiles at him again. The misery-laden assistant cannot help but smile in return. _He has a hold over me just like…his father._

He feels like he should resent the baby because this baby is the final nail in the coffin that his love could ever be requited, but he can't. He can't help but smile at this little innocent. Because this baby is Palpatine's.

 _He has his nose, his royal nose!_

* * *

Sate leaves the manor with the crate under one arm and the baby in his other. He does nothing to Moore's body; he cannot bear to touch the skin that touched Palpatine's.

By the time he's back on the ship and prepping it for takeoff, he is hit by a staggering realization.

The Emperor does not know that he has a son.

 _Palpatine does not know that he has a son!_ Sate quickly puts the baby down on the pilot's seat and takes out his comlink.

 _I…have to tell him. It wouldn't be right for me to show up and dump the baby in his lap, and then go back to my apartments and drink my misery away. I have to forewarn him and let him figure out what he wants to do with the baby. He'll probably have assembled a team of nannies by the time we get there._ The baby lets out a low cry like he can _feel_ Sate's pessimism.

"It'll be okay." He tells the baby, but the baby stares owlishly with his green eyes. Waiting for proof.

Sate finally hails the Emperor.

" _Sate?_ " Sate freezes with another realization. He did not prepare what he was going to say to the Emperor.

"I…." His eyes burn once more. "I have your son."

" _…_ "

"Moore died giving birth to him in her manor on Ghost Nebula." He continues, waiting for the Emperor's order.

" _…_ "

"What are your orders, Emperor?" He leaves out _my_ because Palpatine was never his to begin with. Or ever.

" _Bring the child to me._ " The order from the familiar baritone voice makes Sate momentarily less miserable. The Emperor has given him an order, and he must obey.

"Understood, sir." He turns the comlink off and shoves it back into his pocket. He finally leaves the planet.

As the white stars in the blackness of space stretch into the infinite wonder of hyperspace, the baby begins to cry.

"Oh, hey, no, sweetie, it'll be fine." He coos and picks up the crying babe. There are faded tear trails on the baby's pale face.

"Have you been crying this entire time?" _For me?_ Sate feels a lump forming in his throat. If he talks, he knows he will cry.

The baby looks up at him with tears filling his eyes, making the green in his eyes a watery blue.

"A P-Palpatine blue." Sate croaks and feels that lump descend onto his stomach like a sucker punch. He slowly crumbles to the floor with the baby in his arms.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." And then Sate cries.

* * *

Darth Sidious made sure that his Apprentince was as far from Coruscant as possible for the next week or so. He did not want Darth Vader to know about the existence of the child. The child that he had no forewarning in the Force about.

 _The child that I never thought I would have!_ Sidious never wanted a child of his own, especially after the failure of Maul. But now he has one.

 _And Moore is the mother! She seemed content playing Creator at Kessel, creating mutants like Trioculus_. He never thought she would be a mother.

 _The mother of my…the child._ But she is dead, so there will be no more children. He is glad for that.

He senses Sate and the child entering the palace. He can feel the misery rolling through Sate's mind with only brief snatches of happiness. The child may be the source of that happiness.

The child…..he can feel the Force emanating from the child. It is not the burning sun like Anakin or the furious vortex like Vader.

The child is like mist, hiding something that could be terrifying or wondrous.

The child is not dark like him.

The child is a mystery.

He frowns, almost uncertain if that is for the best.

Sate and the child are now outside his throne room.

 _Let them in, Captain._ He alerts the Royal Guard. The doors are immediately opened.

Sate comes in with the baby swaddled in Moore's Shadowcloak. Sate's head is bare of his headscarves, which shows off his grey hair. His maroon robe is wrinkled and the toes of his boots are scuffed. His brown eyes are red and puffy from hours of crying.

Sidious almost rolls his eyes at Sate's evident heartbreak.

 _There was nothing between us, but scientific curiosity._ He could have told Sate to ease his assassin's tender heart. But he won't.

Sate stops at a respectful distance from his throne.

"Your son," Sidious holds back a sneer. "Has been fed and changed, so he shouldn't be a problem."

"Give me the child, Sate." He orders softly. Sate slightly shivers at his words, and it was not out of lust. Sate subconsciously tightens his grip on the child like he was sincerely considering refusing the order.

But Sate moves towards him and comes close enough to hold out the child. The child twists and fusses in his shaky grip.

 _The child naturally does not want to part from the person that has fed him, clothed him, and…loves him._ That gives Sidious pause.

But he takes the child.

Sate opens his mouth and tell him how to hold the child, but Sidious remembers how to hold a baby. It's been decades since he held Maul, but he never forgot how to.

And the child does not have clothes-shredding talons like Maul.

"Sate," Sidious pauses. "Remain outside until I summon you."

If Sidious had said, _"Leave us."_ Then Sate would have left, the child would have been given to the Prophets of the Dark Side to be trained as an Eye, and the child would have been named Triclops.

But Sidious did not.

When Sate goes outside and predictably slumps against a wall, Sidious examined the child carefully.

The child was like Maul; his face defined only hours after his birth. And like Maul, there was not much baby fat to make him a cherub.

 _Pale, much paler than Moore, more like me. But the hair color is most certainly Moore's. The green eyes…I do not know where they come from. Moore's were electric white, while mine were watery blue._ He turns the child around and is greeted with another eye.

 _Ah, so the child is a mutant. Moore did only knew how to make mutants. If her goal was to make a normal child, she has failed spectacularly._ He turns the child to face him again, paying special care not to irritate the third eye.

 _He has the shape of my face and…my nose._ He frowns deeply.

The child reaches out to him through the Force. Sidious could laugh at the child's feeble attempts to impart _warmth_ on him. Instead, he is intrigued.

 _He has the Force and has enough…awareness of it. Like Maul._ And then the child's eyes twist with infant curiosity, which makes Sidious smirk as the child attempts to reach out to him. Instinctually seeking a bond with a fellow like him.

 _How bold! But I'm already bonded to another. And I cannot have him ever know about you._ The Master knows that his Apprentince would be seized with useless jealously. Or, worse, be seized with clingy neediness and bargain for custody of the child.

 _I will not subject the child to Vader._ He has firmly decided.

 _But what shall I do with the child? I could give him to the Prophets and he could become a useful Dark Side servant for me._ A wave of disgust goes through him; that is what Plagueis intended for Maul.

 _If I wanted him to be a servant, then I would have let Sate go. But Sate is my loyal servant and would never turn the child against me. Like Vader would have if he had his own child._ Sidious continues thinking this over for a long time.

While the child smiles prophetically.

* * *

Sate is hoping that he can stew in his misery in peace. Or at least as much peace can be allowed with the Royal Guards stationed outside the throne room. But he is able to spend a better part of an hour being peacefully miserable.

"Where the pfassk have you been?" Sate looks up and sees the jovial face of Kinman Doriana. The grin on Kinman's face becomes even wider when he takes in the sorry state that Sate is in.

"Ghost Nebula." Sate rasps. He can see the gleam of annoying mischief in the younger man's eyes.

"So you finally decided to confront Moore about who deserved to ride the Emperor's—" A half-feral growl is torn from Sate's sore throat. He is seconds from taking the dagger hidden in his sleeve and stabbing Kinman in the knee.

"Moore. Is. Dead." Sate tersely says. The mischief is wiped from Kinman's green eyes.

"What?"

"She died giving birth to Pal….the Emperor's son." Sate just wants to run back to his apartment, open a bottle or dozen of wine, and drink himself into oblivion.

"…So is the bastard alive?" Kinman asks with wide eyes, anticipating Sate to confess to infanticide. Sate glares at him.

"Yes, and you should not call the Emperor's son that!" Sate sharply reminds him, which causes Kinman to shrug.

"And you don't hate the little bastard?" Sate feels his blood pressure rise.

"No. It's not his fault that he was born!" Kinman hums with an idea.

"You're clearly attached to the little bas—baby, so the Emperor will give you the kid." Sate stares at him in utter disbelief.

"Oh come on, do you really think that Palpatine ever wanted to be a father? If he wanted to, there are systems of women that would happily have his children. Especially that crazy Hapan Queen!" Sate nearly groans at the reminder of last year's _diplomatic mission_ to Hapes.

"He won't give up his son! As we speak, he's already arranged half the child's life and will tell me to get a contractor to build a nursery!" Sate insists, but Kinman snorts at his naïveté.

"Sate, think with your head, not with your heart." Kinman retorts, and Sate seized with the childish urge to flip him off.

"The Emperor has summoned you." The Captain of the Royal Guard announces and effectively ends the next round of arguments between the Imperial advisors.

Sate immediately gets up and heads back to his Emperor.

* * *

The Emperor is at the foot of his throne and letting his son play with his white, withered index finger. Sate hopes in his tender heart that the Emperor will order him to have his son's nursery built as soon as possible.

 _Perhaps, his son will make him happy._ Because Sate wants the Emperor to be happy, even if it is not with him.

"The child is yours, Sate." The Emperor declares and pulls his finger out of his son's grasp.

"W-What!?" Sate sputters.

"You shall raise the child as your own." The Emperor fixes his golden eyes on him, sending shivers down Sate's spine.

"B-But he's yours!" _And I know he hates giving up what is rightfully his. Like the Empire._

"Sate." The assassin feels himself tremble from the impatient chill in the Emperor's voice. The baby shivers too.

"Y-Yes, sir." Sate walks towards the Emperor, ready to receive his son. When he is close enough for the reception, fleetingly, he believes that the Emperor will change his mind and pull the baby away. But the Emperor hands him the baby without any lingering touches, while the baby giggles in Sate's arms.

The Emperor turns away from the new family.

"You have three days to adjust your life around your new son." Sate looks at the Emperor's back and waits for the final order.

"You may leave." And with the final order utter, Sate leaves.

* * *

Kinman is waiting for them with excitement dancing in his eyes. Sate considers just kneeing the oaf in the groin and running out of the palace, but he does want to expose his son to violence this early in his life.

 _Son, I have a son now!_ Sate is amazed by this turn of events and is distracted with his fantasies for the future, which gives Kinman an opening.

"I told you that the Emperor would give you the kid. So can I hold the little bas—gift from Shiraya now?" Sate rolls his eyes at Kinman's childish request. But he gives in because Kinman would never harm the baby. That would require more cruelty than Kinman has.

"Huh, he's lighter than the average baby." The baby coos at him, apparently also surprised that Kinman is holding him properly.

"I doubt Moore was eating well." Sate pins the blame on her for the baby's less-than-average weight.

"Or maybe he got it from the father?" Kinman cheekily offers; he then goes to touch the baby's hair.

"Be careful with the back of his head!" Sate warns him. Kinman pulls his hand away from the baby's head and flips the baby around. Kinman's lips curl into a Cheshire grin.

"I wonder which side of the family the third eye comes from. Moore's? Probably hiding it under those ridiculously oversized cloaks." Sate half-expects Kinman to try and poke the baby's third eye. Instead, Kinman hands the baby back to him who happily nestles himself in Sate's arms.

"Aww, he looks so comfy in your arms." Sate's attention is focused on the happy, gummy smile on the baby's face.

"Yeah."

"Does the baby have a name?" The baby tries to blow spit bubbles, but can only drool.

"Not yet."

"I've got a suggestion." The baby pauses in his drool to look at Kinman.

"What's the suggestion?" Sate feels regret enter his mind immediately after he asked the question.

"Triclops."

* * *

"Hmm, what shall I name you?" Sate asks aloud as he fills out the baby's birth certificate. The baby is currently in a wicker picnic basket.

"Not Sheev since your sire hates it when anyone says that name." The baby bobs his head like he's agreeing, but Sate believes he's just bored.

"Not Triclops because then I'll have to stab myself in the knee!" Which is exactly what Sate did to Kinman.

"Hmm, names usually come from where you're from. But I don't know any Umbaran names that would suit you." _And all the Umbarans I knew were mincing scumbags!_ The baby nods his little head again.

"Hmmmmm, you are also Naboo. So what would be a good Nabooian name?" _Not Kinman! Not Vidar! Not Cosinga! Not Ars! Not Padmé! Force, why do I only recall the names of dead Naboo?_ He lets out a deep sigh and looks back at the baby. The baby giggles like a mad imp, which makes Sate's tender heart do somersaults.

"You were giggling like that when I stabbed Kinman! I think he cried out some Naboo God. It wasn't Shiraya. It started with an _R_ and it was ridiculously long. Ugh, all I recall is Rama!" Sate's dark eyes widen as though he found the answer to all of life's problems.

 _Rama! Of course, it has less than six letters like Sheev. It's Naboo. And I can spell it without an accent mark!_ Sate looks back at the baby.

"How about Rama Pestage? Do you like that name, Rama?" The baby gives him the biggest gummy smile that Sate has ever seen from his newly adopted son. His tender heart melts.

"Rama Pestage it is then."

* * *

 **Author's Comments-** There are no links this time.

"When I Met You" by David Bowie I feel like is Sate's and Palpatine's song, even though Palpatine is more of a classical, opera Sith, while Sate is more into Radiohead, Bauhaus, and Joy Division. Although, it would mostly be from Sate's perspective. Seriously, look up the lyrics; I think it's pretty apt for them.

Anyways, the next chapter is going to be about Sate finding a nanny for Rama because the Emperor needs his best assistant back in like three days. And if you're worried about Kinman, don't be. This is not the first time he's been stabbed by Sate. Nor will it be his last.


	3. Jade

The Emperor's Son Chapter Two

* * *

Suggested Theme:

Main Theme- Golden Years by David Bowie

* * *

Three days would not be enough time for most people to adjust their lives around a newborn, but Sate Pestage is the best assistant in the Empire. Within two days, he has done the following:

Ordered a crib for Rama.

Ordered baby clothes and blankets for Rama.

Ordered a changing table and baby toys for Rama.

Received orders.

Built the crib.

Got Rama vaccinated.

Informed the family about Rama.

Took holos of Rama for the family.

Sent holos of Rama to the family.

Promised to bring Rama to the next family reunion.

Converted the guest room into a nursery for Rama.

Moved the crib to the nursery.

Moved the crib back to his room for Rama.

However, there was one task that should have been part of the top ten: finding a babysitter for Rama.

He considered for a moment about getting a nanny droid, but his parents never left him with a droid. He was left with his aunts, uncles, cousins, or second cousins when his parents went away for _work_.

And he's pretty certain Vader must've been raised by one, and he does not want Palpatine's son to be like that brute.

 _Nothing but the best for Rama…so why did I wait until the last minute? I wish I could blame Kinman for this!_ Sate agonizes a minute after the start of the third day. He turns on his side and sees Rama blinking owlishly at him.

 _He's so cute with his green eyes and fluffy white hair! I waited this long because I didn't want to share Rama with anyone else. Except for one._ Rama pats his Palpatine nose and giggles madly.

 _Finding and vetting a babysitter before the day is over will be horrible. Almost as horrible as when Amidala danced with my Chancellor. But not nearly as horrible when the Jedi nearly assassinated my Emperor._ Rama utters a small cry like he's in pain. Sate immediately cuddles his son to his chest.

"Oh, it's okay, Rama, daddy was remembering some bad stuff. It's not your fault!" He placates his son who stops fussing.

 _Such a good boy. Where does he get it from?_

Sate allows himself to wonder for a moment.

 _This is what I will accomplish today: finding the perfect sitter for Rama._

* * *

It is 1916 on the chronometer in the Pestage living room. Rama is passed out in his crib from his recent feeding. He is snuggling with a purple headscarf that he _snatched_ when Sate was scouring the HoloNet for sitters.

Sate spent his entire morning narrowing his search from well over 10,000 to a 1,000 to a 100 and then to 21.

Perhaps, that was a godsend.

The interviewees would sell themselves well; they had awards, degrees, and decades of experience under their belt when it came to childcare.

But then they would fail the real test: Rama.

Rama would scream at them like he was alone with his mother's corpse.

Or, he would glare at them like the Emperor, incinerating them with emeralds rather than with gold.

 _There's only one left._ Sate feels numb after a day of failed interviews, and only looking at Rama's sleeping face can elicit emotion from him.

 _I've failed you Rama; it's just impossible that the 21_ _st_ _will do as well as the others._ He is scrolling through the file of the 21st candidate on his datapad and frowns.

 _Jade of Epica, 21 standard years, never went to university, newly married, and his entire employment experience comes from working at a daycare in Lower Coruscant. I shouldn't even consider him, but there's no one left._

There's a soft knock on his door.

His chair screeches as he pushes back to get up, but Rama just tightens his hold on the headscarf. Sate smiles at him before schooling his face in blankness.

He peers into the peephole and only sees a badly-stitched reindeer on a green sweater.

He opens the door.

Jade of Epica is tall and gangly like a Galek sapling. He's also pale like one, which causes his brown freckles to be more pronounced on his fair complexion. Along with his red curls. His eyes are round like a doe's and nearly as green as Rama's. All in all, he is a handsome, young man.

With exceptionally poor taste in fashion.

"Good evening, Mr. Pestage!" His voice is like a fizzyglug, far too bubbly and sugary for one's health.

"Yes, do come in, Mr. Jade." Sate moves to let the young man through; he closes the door and prepares himself for another failure. He then leads the young man to the living room where Rama is staring at them.

 _Oh no, it'll be over before it ever began._ Sate does not know if that too is a godsend.

"Hello, sweetness, sleep well?" Unbidden, Jade goes over to Rama and picks him up from his cradle. Sate prepares his ears for the screaming.

"Mmm!" Rama giggles and waves the headscarf like it's a flag.

"You must only have sweet dreams because you're so sweet!" Rama giggles more as Jade's voice ascends several octaves.

 _Rama…isn't screaming or glaring at him. He's giggling like he does with me._ Flames of jealously lick at him, but he smothers them down from years of experience.

"I see Rama is taken with you."

"And I with him, sir." Rama giggles when Jade blows air on his cheeks.

 _Rama's not even trying to get out of his arms like a reekcat near water. He's snuggling up to him…clearly, my son has chosen._

And who was he to ignore his son's choices?

* * *

 **Author's Comments-** No links this time.

Epica is actually a real planet in Legends. It comes from James Luceno's _Millennium Falcon_ , and is described to be a pleasant, mostly ignored planet in the Inner Rim. I was going to go with Colstev, one of the "joke" planets Lucas and Obi-Wan's alleged homeworld, Stewjon, is also one, but I flipped through my _Star Wars: Essential Atlas_ and came across Epica and I just had to use it.

Am I going to spend some time on Jade of Epica from here on out? Not really because this story is not about him. It's all about Rama and hitting those high and low points of his infancy. I plan for the next one to be about Rama teething since apparently that can happen with babies as young as three months.


	4. Wine

The Emperor's Son Chapter Three

* * *

Sate Pestage's mornings begin with Rama. His son's sweet laugh would play over the monitor, almost defeating the blare of the chrono alarm. He then would clap his hands until he got his _good morning_ kiss. Once fulfilled, Sate would then get Rama ready for his day with Jade, and he would then ready himself for his day with his Emperor.

Rama would beam his gummy smile at him as Sate finish wrapping the last of his head scarves, and Sate would store that smile up for inevitable departure.

Jade would arrive at exactly 0700 with a perpetual smile and an ugly sweater. Rama would flash him a gummy smile, but those green eyes shimmer with sad resignation. No crying, no wailing, no screaming, but Sate's heart would be bruised all the same until he returned home.

At the Palace, he would think about Rama. He would think of his star-shaped hands. He would think of his moon-kissed skin. He would think of his long nose perfect for kisses. He would sigh often in his office when thinking of Rama, and Kinman would tease him until he saw the gleam of Sate's dagger.

When his Emperor had no further need of him for the day, he would go directly home and hold back a happy sob when Jade handed him his son. He would kiss the tip of his son's nose and his son would let out a peal of pure happiness.

Life was going quite well for the Pestage family until one fateful morning of the fourth standard month of the first year of the Galactic Empire…

* * *

There is no laughter when Sate wakes up; his chrono blares, while Rama is oddly silent. He shoots out of bed without putting on his slippers and runs to his son's nursery. Rama, in his lavender footy pajamas, is in his crib, but his face is crumpled up in pain like he's gotten another shot from the doctor.

"Sweetie?" Sate feels his heart race as Rama finally opens his eyes. They are bloodshot and irritated from his silent crying. He scoops his son up and kisses his salty cheeks.

"What's wrong? Did you have a nightmare?" His son mewls with pain and shakes in his hold. _He doesn't feel hot. Or cold. So what's the matter?_

"Did you bump your head against the bars?" _If he did, he shouldn't have been able to feel it because this crib is lined with shock absorption and Gort feathers!_ His son lifts his head from his neck and opens his mouth.

He sees a little, teeny-tiny speck of white poking through the pink gums of his upper mouth. His heart constricts with fear.

"Oh….you're teething."

* * *

The sweet laughter heralding the mornings turn into quiet sniffles of a baby needing his pain medication. Fulfillment becomes appeasement. Gummy smiles become rare. The kisses are cut with consolation instead of pure love.

Whenever Sate sees the Emperor, after suppressing his usual feelings of longing, he is tempted to ask if he could use the Force to eliminate Rama's pain. But then his mind would lock his heart in an Arkanian stranglehold.

 _Not once has he asked me about his son, let alone what I named him. If it was anyone other than him, then I would believe he doesn't care a wit for his son. But I know that can't be the case because he wouldn't have left Rama in my care. He would've shipped him off to be trained as an acolyte or an inquisitor. He entrusted me with his son. I just need to endure for his sake and Rama's._

So he kept these wretched feelings to himself, stuffing them away like tear-stained tissues into empty wine bottles. But unlike the bottles, he couldn't toss his feelings into a trash compactor and watch them being crushed into blue dust.

So for five weeks, he bottles away his feelings and endures.

" _Mmm...ah!"_ Rama weakly cries over the baby monitor, and Sate's bloodshot eyes look at the chrono. _0400_.

"Please, Rama, just go back to sleep." He pleads, but his child continues his soft cries. And with a sigh, he pulls himself out of bed to get his teething son and brings him into the kitchen. The overhead lights make his eyes itch, but Rama's renewed cries distract him. He grabs the medicine bottle from the stainless steel fridge and lets out a groan.

"Poodoo! I was supposed to get a refill after work!" He bangs his forehead against the cold metal unit.

"Ahhh!" Rama's distress stops his self-punishment. He looks around for a miracle. His dark eyes see the rose-pink neck of blossom wine. He pulls the neck down with one hand and nearly gapes at how full it is.

 _Ever since Rama's teething began, I haven't had the time to drink wine. I doubt getting drunk and turning into a heartbroken wreck is the solution…Or maybe I can give some to Rama. Yes, mom always told the family at the reunions about how much of a nightmare I was as a baby until she gave me a thimbleful of Daplona whiskey. I can't give Rama that much, but maybe a few fingers…_

He brings the wine's cork to his mouth, quickly pulls it out, and spits the tan cork onto the white floor. He then pulls out a crystal shot glass, a 45th Life day present from Kinman, from the cups' cabinet and fills it up with the wine. He then sticks two fingers, letting the red coat his pale digits. He brings the fingers to Rama's mouth.

Rama blinks, but suckles on the tips of the fingers.

A heart flutter later, Rama laughs heartily. Tears prick his dark eyes, but Sate smiles.

"I'll only give you a little every day, so don't tell Palpatine." Rama giggles and wriggles in his hold. Sate raises his son up a little and receives a kiss on his nose.

* * *

 **Author's Comments:** No links this time.

I don't think my parents had to use alcohol when I and my sisters were teething, but my dad did tell me that his mom used to rub whiskey on his gums to ease his pain. Considering where he is in his life, it clearly had no adverse effect on him. So I took inspiration for it, but I used blossom wine because Rama is Naboo on his Sire's side. I really do need to explore his Umbaran side though one day; maybe during his adventure with Maul. If I ever get to that story.

The next chapter will most likely have to do with Rama's first steps. I have a nephew that can't really talk, but he sure knows how to walk. Or perhaps I'll have him talk first.


	5. Actions

The Emperor's Son Chapter Four

* * *

Sate jolts from his bed when he hears a loud thump resonating from the baby monitor; he takes half of his sheets with him as he runs to Rama's nursery and curses along the way for forgetting his dagger.

He arrives to see nothing amiss in the nursery; there's no kidnapper, no rogue Jedi out for revenge. It's just Rama standing in his crib with wide eyes.

 _Rama is standing all by himself! When did he learn to do this!?_ Sate knows that this has to be fairly new since Jade has always told him every little thing about Rama's day like what they ate, what they watch, what games they played, and even when Rama had a bowel movement.

 _He's not even eight months and he's standing! What's next he'll be walking–_ Rama takes a step forward, wobbles, and falls on his little tushy. _That's where the sound was coming from! He was trying to walk!_

And Sate muffles back an effeminate squeal with a fist as Rama tries again to walk. And fails once more.

"Oh, sweetie, it's–" He glances at the butterfly-shaped chronometer. "0400. It's far too early for you to be doing this. You should get some sleep."

Rama narrows his little eyes into two sharp, green daggers; a look that Sate knows all too well from his early years with Senator Palpatine.

 _Palpatine hated being told what to do, even if it was for his own good. Younger me practically cowered when being on the receiving end of that look. However, Rama is a baby, my son. His well-being matters more than his pride._ Sate, with a quick intake of air, lays down the law.

"You will go back to sleep, or there will be no wine!" The fierce Palpatine look is wiped clean off of Rama's face, and replaced with watery eyes and quivering, thin lips.

"Oh no, Rama, I didn't mean to scare you!" He quickly scoops up his son and plants a kiss on his nose. Rama giggles, and all is forgiven.

* * *

At the palace, a little before noon, Sate is filing away some flimsi-work on the Falleen takeover of Black Sun when his comlink goes off. He notices that it's from Jade, and his heart begins to race.

 _I told him not to comm unless it's an emergency, so something's happened to Rama!_ He quickly answers it and hears nothing pressing in the background like Rama crying or screaming.

"Jade, is anything the matter?" He keeps his tone nice and even in case he has to instruct Jade through an emergency.

" _I'd comm to let you know that Rama is speaking."_ Sate feels his heart jump so far into his throat that he cannot speak for a minute.

"W-What's he said?" _I missed my son's first words!_ He nearly bemoans.

" _Well, nothing substantial. It's more like he's sounding out letters. Like he's trying to grasp how phonemes work. I know that's not the same as him saying his first word, but I'd figure to give you a heads up if he suddenly spends a solid hour making noise."_

"Thank you for the forewarning, Jade. Do keep me posted if anything else develops."

" _Alright, sir."_

"You made such a mess over that?" Sate whips around to see Kinman leering at him from the archway.

"I did no such thing!"

"Half of your desk is on the floor, and you have your arse on top of a datapad." Sate fights back a horrible blush and the urge to send Kinman back to the hospital.

"Any reason you're here, Kinman?" _Other than to be an asshole._

"I heard a loud racket coming from your office, and I figured that you were having a heart attack. Instead, you lost your poodoo over _your_ son's sound vomit." Kinman throws in a look of worry, but his mouth curls into an impish grin.

Sate narrows his eyes in a warning, and Kinman holds his grin but his knees shake.

"Anything else?"

"When your son does begin to talk, I'll tutor him in Naboo. Free of charge." Kinman offers like a sprig of starblossom.

"I'll consider it. Now, leave." And Kinman scatters like Sate would change his mind and gift him with another scar. Sate shakes his head.

* * *

A month later Sate comes home from a particularly grueling day of work. His headscarves lay messily atop his head like a monkey-rat's nest. He rubs at his throat collared purple; the same purple that the ends of his robes once were. Now, they are singed black.

Talking is out of the question for him, and will be until the next morning. At least, not without feeling like he got his throat cut.

So when Jade gives him his daily report on Rama, he just nods and shakes his head when appropriate. And once the energetic sitter left, Sate has his liquid dinner, while Rama has his semi-solids. Afterwards, they adjoin to Rama's nursery for some after-dinner playtime. Rama has his back to him as he concentrates on buttoning up one of his plasticine Branli's ball gown.

 _Rama hasn't tried to sound out a syllable nor stood up. He's just dressing up his dolls without a sound. Oh no, what if he's given up? Did I do this?_ Sate buries his face into his hands and pulls at his silver hair.

 _This is all my fault! I didn't encourage him enough, and now he's resigned himself to being a mute crawler! Maybe I should tell Palpatine about this, so he can help him. But what if he refuses? What if he deems me unworthy and let's that monster Vader–_

"Daddy." He looks up and sees Rama facing him. He sees Rama stand up and take a lavender-sock step forward. And then another. And then another. And once more.

"Rama." He croaks and hoists him up. Rama touches his nose and says the magic word that delivered him from his doubts.

"Daddy."

"Yes, I'm your daddy."

And with joyful tears, he kisses Rama's nose.

* * *

 **Author's Comments-** There are no links.

Branli, in Legends/EU, is like Star Wars version of Barbie; they even have the same number of letters, six. And plasticine is just the Star Wars version of plastic. Also, don't expect me to illuminate why Vader attacked Sate; I'll give bits and pieces in the future, but I don't want to give a complete picture. Some things are best left up to the imagination.

Also, only three chapters left and they'll deal with these subjects in this order: Rama's first birthday, Rama's first day at the palace, and Rama's first Pestage family reunion.


	6. Life day

The Emperor's Son Chapter Five

* * *

Sate Pestage stretches his arms upwards and lets out a near orgasmic sigh of relief. He has just finished the last of the flimsi-work for the day. He knows that there'll be more tomorrow, and possibly greater if his Emperor wills it, but even that cannot spoil his good mood.

"I could hear your bones cracking from the hall, old man!" Kinman pops his obnoxious head in, and all Sate does is smile politely at him.

"Even you can't ruin my mood, Kinman."

"Was that supposed to be aloud?"

"It was."

"You hurt me, old man." Kinman shows himself in and has a pink-wrapped, ball-shaped present.

"Who is that for?"

"For your mutant baby-boy!" Kinman grins arrogantly, but his knees are twitching like he's ready to bend and dodge.

"Why?"

"For his life day! As his godfather–"

"You will never, ever, ever–"

"I got him a present!" Kinman then tosses the present at him, aiming for the face; Sate catches it with both hands.

"Shock ball?"

"No! It's a ball."

"A ball?"

"A purple ball."

"It's not one of those hard ones, is it?"

"Of course not; it can't even bounce. It's more like an exercise one, except smaller."

"Then, I accept this gift, but why is the wrapping pink?"

"Because pink is in."

"Rama is a boy."

"We Naboo will not primitively limit our fashion like the rest of the galaxy!"

Sate rolls his eyes at Kinman's melodramatic pout.

"On behalf of Rama, I thank you for this _fashionable_ gift."

* * *

 _The cake is ready for pick-up; I hope they made that cake extra moist just as I specified. Rama is able to eat solids well, but it never hurts to be–_

Sate jerks forward like he was tripped and quickly turns his head back, ready to tell Kinman off. He nearly drops the ball in his right hand at who is gripping his left sleeve.

"Your Majesty?" Emperor Palpatine's yellow eyes are hidden by his cowl like most of his face, so Sate cannot read his intentions. However, he concludes it must be important if Palpatine is going out of his way to _touch him_.

"For the child." The Emperor reveals what his left hand was holding; a rectangular black box with a red, lacey bow on top. Sate drops the ball and automatically accepts the present.

"Would you like to–"

"No." There's no sharpness in the rejection, but it still stings. The Emperor lets go of his sleeve and walks away; Sate looks down at the present and then back up. The Emperor is gone like he was never there to begin with.

 _What was I going to ask him? To see Rama? To learn his son can walk and talk better than any one-year-old should? To celebrate Rama's first birthday? To join our–_

Sate puts the present in his left hand and grabs the ball with his right. He resumes his walk, but the Royal Guards on watch note that the Emissary's eyes were dark like he was in a great deal of pain.

* * *

Darth Sidious, who wears the ruined visage of Emperor Palpatine, wondered over the year about the child's development under Sate's patriarchal guidance.

 _Had the child walked?_

 _Had the child talked?_

 _Had the child used the Force?_

He had been most preoccupied by that final question. And when the child's _life day_ came around, with Sate fussing about the milestone like a medieval nursemaid, the Lord of the Sith decided that it was time to answer the question.

He stands before his golden scrying bowl in his favorite lounging robe; a crimson, cyrene silk trimmed with the black fur of an Af'El lion that goes majestically with the golden wine goblet in his left hand. He swirls the dark blossom wine like he'll divine the future from it.

"We'll start with the presents and then move to the cake, Rama!" _He named the child after Shiraya's consort; no Naboo parent would dare name their child after the Gods for no parent would burden their child with great destiny. Atoner, Dutiful, Prosperous, but Ravager. Will the child live up to his name like I have?_

"Kinman got you a present; do you remember who Kinman is?"

"The fool!" A child's reedy voice readily answers.

"Yes!" Sidious hears the tear of thin wrapping and then childish clapping of the excited child.

"Ball!"

"Yes, but I don't think you can get on it quite yet, Rama." Sate teases lightly, while the child grunts like a worker ant trying to go up Gallo Mountains.

"Sweetie, we have one more present to get to." _I thought Sate was close to his family; he always requested a week off to go to these "family reunions" around High Day. Perhaps, they do not approve of R–the child._

"From whom?" _He already knows the proper grammar for Basic, but what about Naboo? Sate knows Naboo, but his grasp of the language is on the level of a child in daycare. I may need to enlist Kinman if I want the child to sound natural…_

"Palpatine; do you remember who he is?"

"Sire." _Interesting, is the child referring to the royal or natural definition?_

"Yes, the Emperor." There's a note of wistful longing in Sate's tone like a man dreaming about his unrequited love; Sidious rolls his golden orbs and drinks from his goblet. He hears the child tugging at the bow and nimbly loosening it, rather than tearing it off like most children would.

"Well…what an interesting rabbit doll!" Sate proclaims awkwardly, which would have offended Sidious on any other occasion, but the Sith Lord agrees with him. He designed the gift to be a tool for spying and experimented with shadow alchemy to create the gift; however, close to the end of its fabrication, it dawned on Sidious that no child would want to play with a streak of living shadow. He attempted to shape the shadow into something _cute_. He knows that he failed and it's more than probable that the child will cry.

The child's pale, small hands lift the gift out of its box.

 _Oh dear, he has my nose. My face. My eyebrows. Everything really, except the coloration. His white hair is clearly Sly Moore's, but the eye color…a mutation like his third eye._ His thoughts still at the brilliant smile that graces the child's lips.

The child gives the misshapen shadow a heartfelt hug and squeals:

"Love Heartless!"

 _What is wrong with him!?_

* * *

Sidious temporarily departs from his confusion to refill his goblet with emerald wine. When he gets back, his scrying bowl shows a peculiar life day cake.

The life day cake twists into a monochromatic hill with wicked-face pumpkins decorating under the spiral. A bespoke skeleton and a poorly-dressed ragdoll are embracing at the very top of the hill. Sidious wonders if this a popular design for children's cake or from a holo that he would never see. Possibly both.

Sate's hand, lightly liver-spotted, comes into view and plants a lavender candle behind the odd couple. He lights it with an old-fashioned matchstick. He brings the child up on the table and Sidious is treated to the child's attire.

 _A purple tunic with purple pants and purple boots…how plain. Perhaps, the child will wish for more fashionable clothing._

The child blows out the candle like an ffsstfft.

"What did you wish for?"

"Tell you later." The child raises his right index finger to his thin lips and winks; Sate audibly coos at the display, while Sidious takes in another mouthful of the sour wine to wash away the saccharine aftertaste in his mouth.

"Are you ready, sweetie?"

"For what?"

Sate smiles and, without warning, plunges the child's face into the cake.

Sidious drops his goblet and it clatters loudly onto the Wayland marble; he nearly Force-speeds out of his quarters to rescue the child from suffocation by cake when Sate finally relents. The child's face is a mess of chocolate cake and white frosting; he licks his lips like a greysor with a mouthful of gravy.

"Mmmmmmm, cookies and cream!"

"And the Pestage family tradition continues!"

Sidious is mystified as the pair laugh together like this was normal for their _family_ , for every _family_.

 _No broken noses, no tattling siblings, no cries for–_

He sneers and leaves for another goblet.

* * *

When Sidious returns, and pleased that the MSE-6 has cleaned up the mess, he sips from his silver goblet and notices that the cake is gone. A holoscreen has taken its place, and Sidious knows that they are back in the living room.

 _What are they wearing? Some kind of robe, but it's comprised of cheap fabric like thermablankets. Oh no, those are the horrid Hugsly robes that were all the rage for the commoners nearly three decades ago. I didn't think Sate would ever buy something that–_

"Holo, holo, holo!" The child chants excitedly as Sate commands for the holo to be played.

" _Edward Scissorhands_ was one of my favorite holos when I was a kid; I used to watch it every year, but then I got involved with Palpatine." Sidious rolls his eyes and takes a drink.

As the holo plays, Sidious realizes that he enjoys the dark and _weird_ aesthetics of the holo, which slightly surprises him because he was more for live entertainment like theater. Most of his enjoyment comes from watching Edward's failure to blend into this strangely archaic, suburban society. The artificial human attracts all sorts of unwanted attention, while confusedly pining for the pretty girl. Yet, his most favorite scenes are the ones with the Inventor, and from the massive smiles that would grace the child's face whenever he appeared, he can tell those are the child's too.

" _I know it's a little early for Christmas, Edward, but, uh…I have a present for you."_

The Inventor presents his creation with hands to make him just like everyone else, but Sidious knows that this won't happen because then there would be no holo. He wonders if the child knows this too.

It's all fine when Edward touches the hands with his scissor-blades, while the Inventor looks on with paternal delight. Just like Sate is doing right now with the child.

Then, the Inventor's happiness slowly fades into the mask of death.

" _Rama?"_

As the Inventor collapses, the hands are pushed forward with Edward unintentionally destroying them.

" _Sweetie?"_

He tries to wake his creator, but the red blood finally makes him realize that the Inventor will never wake up and that he's all alone.

"….." Sidious sees the child silently crying, big, fat tears roll down those pale cheeks and wet his lap. Sate grasps the tiny face and tries to brush away the tears, but the child continues to silently cry. Like Sidious did when he was child that did not accept that no one in the universe will save him.

 _Sheev drags himself under his bed and curls away from the moonlight; if he makes a noise, then father will hit him again. But his cheeks hurt so much._

"Rama, the Inventor is….uh…" Sidious feels a twist of an unknown emotion, similar to a stomach cramp, as Sate tries to wrack through an excuse to cheer the child up.

"Dead. He's dead." The child croaks like a dying raven.

"Yes…but Edward is still there, so he's not truly dead." Sate gives the biological argument, a logical argument. But the child is not running on logic at the moment.

"Edward's alone and will be for a long, long time." The child cries freely, and Sate leans back. And for a split second, Sidious expects a slap, but Sate embraces the child and rocks him back and forth.

"He will, but then he's not alone. Sometimes, you have to wait a long time for that special someone."

Sidious looks away from the father and son. Not out of disgust. Not out of respect.

 _What is this feeling?_

* * *

When the holo ends, and the child ceases crying, Sate takes them to another room. This room has painted landscapes of Naboo's serene Lake Country and the slow-moving Daplona River, half greenery and half cityscape. There's a lilac-colored dresser and a diaper changing station right by the crib of scarlet, greel wood. There is dark purple carpet from the patches that Sidious could see since toys flood the room.

 _I estimate there are a 100 animal dolls of different species, 50 plasticine Stormtrooper dolls of various ranks, 25 replicas of Imperial-class Star Destroyers, 10 colorful Tooka-dolls, 8 puzzle boxes, and 7 dollhouses. These must be from the Pestage hegemony because Sate wouldn't possibly spoil the child with all of these useless toys. He better not._

"And your third-cousins' gifts won't be arriving 'till tomorrow." Sate sighs wearily as though he knows how wasteful this all was. And that he's running out of space to store those gifts.

"Love Heartless!" The child insists and hugs Heartless again, making Sidious grimace at the child's saccharine devotion to an inanimate, imperfect object.

"I can tell." Sate smiles approvingly and then looks towards the door. "I need to do some dishes. Can I trust you to pick out your PJs tonight?"

"Yes!" The child responds with a delighted grin that reminds Sidious of those he would flash at Sate during the early years of their relationship; he knows that whatever doubts that Sate had would melt while cutting his heart into delectable pieces. But this one simply melts the Emissary into a disgusting puddle.

When Sate departs, the child puts Heartless down and walks to his dresser. He pulls the bottom drawer out and hums as he makes his choices. The child finally pulls out a red and white striped footie pajamas, and Sidious nearly recoils at the sight of such fashion monstrosity.

"You like?" The child teases Heartless, and Sidious has half a mind to Force-speed over there and burn that offensive article.

"No?" The child puts the onesie away and pulls out a plain, purple onesie. "This is the one."

 _I entrusted Sate to raise and care for the child, but, clearly, I cannot trust him to clothe him. He clearly did not learn from any of the shopping trips during my senatorial decades. Nor listened to Kinman's lecture about why stripes are an offense to Shiraya; she doesn't exist, but I at least sympathize with her on that front. I will need to design a later winter and possibly the child's spring wardrobe. Expand beyond purple. Red, certainly. Perhaps, some pi–_

"Sire, sleep time." The child is already in his nighttime clothes, and Sidious is pleased by the speed the child has changed. However, that pleasure is cut by suspicion from the child's _order_.

 _He can't possibly know that I'm–_

"Daddy loves you." Sidious winces at the informality, and then the child comes over and kisses the Heartless right where lips should be.

"I love y–." Sidious swipes at the scrying bowl, knocking it off the table and it spills right where the golden goblet spilt. He downs the rest of his wine and goes to his bed. He closes his eyes briefly, but his mind refuses to rest. So he channels his insomnia into something productive: designing the child's clothes for the next couple of years.

* * *

Rama Pestage wakes up in the middle of night by his father's side. He stops chewing on one of Heartless's long, thin ears and puts his mouth to a more productive use.

"Daddy." He whispers, but he knows that his father will hear him unlike sire who must be sleeping.

"Yes, sweetie?"

"I know my wish."

"What is it?"

"I want to go to the Palace."

"…..That can." His father yawns. "Be arranged."

"You won't forget."

"Never for you."

 _Nor for sire._

He gives Heartless another kiss and hopes it reaches his sire.

* * *

 **Author's Comments-** Here is the link.

Here is an image of Rama's Heartless, which is actually a Heartless. Why? Because I'm a huge fan of the _Kingdom Hearts_ franchise. Unfortunately, I lack the necessary console to play the latest and possibly final game in the series, so please no spoilers for it. Also, since Disney is heavily involved in the series, it's only natural to mix their properties: a href=" images/d/de/Shadow_ "Link/a

Here is the link to the particular scene in _Edward Scissorhands_. When I was about ten, I watched the movie for the first time and cried; I hated crying, still mostly do, because of all the little pains associated with it. I ended up hiding the movie disc under the couch where it got scratched up beyond recognition. Now, I wish I could cry to the movie like I did when I was a kid. Also, I figure that movie would be up Sate's alley because I'd always imagined him being the quiet Goth boy at the back of the class that would love films with misfits in it: a href=" watch?v=m355Zag_G8E"Link/a

And that's the story of how Rama got Heartless and his purple thinking ball!

By the way _ffsstfft_ is a reference to the dandelion-warriors on Endor and they very much exist in Legends/EU; look it up in the Wookie.

If Darth_Videtur is reading this, I have changed quite a lot from our sessions into this. Maybe, I'll include the wine scene later because it's just too adorable to pass up!

Next chapter will be about Rama's first day at the Palace and Kinman will be there, so you know it's just going to go horribly wrong. Or maybe it won't.


	7. Work

The Emperor's Son Chapter Six

* * *

Sate Pestage has his tongue sticking out the side of his mouth like he's a child again trying to figure out how to administer poison for the first time. However, in the childhood days of a bygone era, he had his parents to help him. In this task, his parents would be of no use.

 _I'm doomed! There's no way I can do this myself…Why do the Naboo have to make knot tying so difficult!?_ Sate sighs and tugs on the ribbon around his son's robe collar; it unties itself far too easily, and he knows that means he got the knot wrong again.

 _Amidala always got the knot right. First term, she wore it chastely around her neck for a day, making it blend with her other gaudy necklaces. But in her final term, she got bold and wore it on her wrist just so Senator Palpatine would kiss it when showing his loyalty!_ Sate feels his cheeks go scarlet and nearly curses until he notices the way his son is looking at him. He tilts his little head to the side and blinks his green eyes once, signaling that he's curious to why his father was making such a big deal over the ribbon.

"Rama, you're half Naboo, which means I need to educate you in the _culture_ of your people. Whenever a Naboo gives you a gift that you love, you wear the ribbon from the gift box of the present somewhere where that the Naboo in question would notice. The Emperor is Naboo and you clearly love Heartless, so you must wear this ribbon." He explains patiently, and his son bats his white lashes.

"But why does the ribbon have to be tied a sir-certain way?" His son asks with only one minor fumble in his diction, but that fumble nearly makes Sate squeal like a puffer pig.

"Because it means _thank you_ in the language of fashion, and fashion is as vital as wine and water to the Naboo." He wishes that he was being hyperbolic, but he has firsthand experience that proves otherwise. Firsthand experience that used to drape himself in the most sumptuous of robes that would show only the barest flashes of his wrist–

"What shape is the ribbon supposed to take?" Sate's fingers creak as he tries for what feels like the hundredth time to tie the ribbon correctly. He sighs and gives up for a moment.

"A millaflower. It's sort of shaped like a five-pointed star with a bunch of stamen in the center of it; the stamen kind of look like antennas with bottom lips." He huffs with frustration at failing once more to replicate the stamen. He can get the shape, but the stamen always defeats him. His son rests his tiny white hand over his liver-spotted one.

"Daddy, let me help." His son sounds almost like the Emperor, but the warmth and sheer goodness separate those two by lightyears. His son moves towards his wardrobe with the grace of an air dancer; he rummages through the bottom drawer and pulls out Great Aunt Millicent's gift: a blackened brooch with fuzzy lines sticking out it like a demented arts-and-craft project.

"I found the stamen!" He pins it to the center of the bow and smiles proudly. Sate covers his mouth to prevent himself from laughing aloud at fashion travesty; he inhales and exhales to calm himself.

"Sweetie, it has to be done with the ribbon." Rama purses his thin lips like Palpatine used to when the Jedi were being patronizing to him of all people.

"But I'm only half Naboo. My other half is you!" He declares with the certitude of the Maker, and Sate gives him an overjoyed hug, practically crushing Heartless between them.

* * *

"You're late!" Kinman greets the Pestage family as they're half a second away from reaching the office sanctum. Sate counts inwardly to three and turns back to deal with one of his oldest friends in the galaxy.

"Good morning, Kinman, how's your knee?" To his credit, Kinman refuses to let his physical cowardice get the best of him this time; the imperial advisor flashes them, mostly directed at Rama, his most dazzling, punchable smile.

"A little stiff, but I have a physical therapist I can comm any time if it gets worse." Kinman waggles his silver brows, and Sate resists face-palming.

"I see…well, we better go." Sate says quickly and begins to turn.

"Aren't you going to introduce Rama to his godfather?"

"Godfather?" Rama looks up at him with adorable befuddlement, and Sate wishes he could deny Rama an answer.

"He's not and never will be–"

"And as you're godfather, little ghost–"

"Kinman, so help your gods, I'm going to–"

"I'm going to watch you while your grandpa-daddy is at the meeting."

"…What meeting?"

Kinman's smile widens in arrogance.

"Didn't you read the memo last night? Palps is having a meeting with Prince Xizor, and he expects his Emissary to be there. But I'm not needed for this particular one since the Falleen is immune to my charms."

 _This is what happens when I don't check my inbox before bed!_ Sate nearly curses aloud at his lack of forethought.

"When's the meeting?" _Maybe I'll have enough time to get Jade–_

"About five minutes in the throne room!" Kinman even makes the gesture at looking down at his chrono-watch, and Sate squeezes his eyes shut and steels himself for what he must do.

"Kinman."

"Yeeees?" Kinman elongates like a child defeating his parents.

"Please, watch Rama until I come back." He grits out like he's having his fingernails being ripped from him again.

"Rama's going to have fun with his Godfather Kinman, aren't we, Rama?" Both men look towards the pale-toned child for permission.

"See you soon, daddy!" Rama smiles at him and picks up one of Heartless's disproportioned arms and has the shadow-rabbit wave goodbye.

Sate's heart aches as though the Emperor is squeezing it in his spidery hand, but he lets go of his son's hand and hurries to the meeting. He hopes it'll be a short one.

* * *

Rama Pestage knows that Kinman Doriana is a fool for two reasons. First, and the most important, is because his daddy said so. The second is that he _feels_ the mischief that hangs about this man like the stench of burnt black toast. He doesn't quite know where this feeling comes from, which is why he's quite happy that he'll see his sire soon so he can ask him. His sire, as his daddy has told him since birth, is a fount of knowledge enshrouded in dark royalty.

The fool isn't as chatty fools tend to be, but then again his office is about five footsteps away. Once the door slides behind them, he watches the fool go to his gleaming, mahogany desk and pick up his cerulean (he learned that word from Mr. Jade) mug.

"Okay, ghost kid, Sate is great at being a loving if overprotective parent, but he's absolutely poodoo at Naboo." Kinman takes a sip, while Rama furrows his white brows.

"I know that your _daddy_ told you that you shouldn't listen to me because I'll just lead you astray. Which I may, but, hey, Shiraya made me this way." He takes another sip.

"Shiraya?"

"She's like the major goddess of our people and probably created the moon if you believe the Brotherhood of Cognizance; most of the temples on Naboo are dedicated her, and when you become older, you'll figure out the real purpose of those temples." Kinman winks at him, and Rama frowns at being denied an answer.

"You know I better just teach you the basics since religion would just go right over your ghost head." Kinman laughs and then takes another sip. "First, you don't call Sate _daddy_ ; he's _father_. I know, I know, _father_ sounds cold, but we Naboo, even the stupidest of peasants, use such formality with our parents. Also, again when you're older, you'll find another use for _daddy_. If you're into that sort of thing, which you might not, but it never hurts to try everything once!"

Rama deepens his frown and tightens his grip on Heartless.

"You picked up on Sate's hypocritical probity, but you got your other father's frown. Aside from the hair color, I don't think there's really any Moore in you…" Kinman takes a thoughtful sip and then winces. "Speaking of bowel movements, I'll be back in thirty."

The fool puts his mug down on his desk and grabs a datapad off his desk but then freezes up and slaps the side of his balding head with his free hand.

"Almost forgot!" He rushes over to the door and then locks it with a simple turn of the security knob. Kinman looks down at him with a smirk. "Now, you won't be getting out, not unless grow a couple of meters!"

Kinman vanishes into the refresher with complete confidence. Rama focuses on the knob while hugging Heartless to his chest. His mind, brilliant he knows because his daddy and Mr. Jade tell him so often, can unlock the door. He used it to unlock his crib many times because he wanted to play with his toys after bedtime. It takes a few tries and some perspiration, but he hears the audible clicks and steps up to the door. It slides open, and he smiles.

He takes his leave and goes to find his sire.

* * *

Darth Vader, one half of the Sith, senses something amiss in the Force. Considering how small the aberration is, perhaps he wouldn't have picked up on this nearly invisible speck if not for the fact that he was meditating. As much as he loathes meditation, it does help him focus on the Force. And he can feel the Force from the small being outside his door.

 _This one is as small as the children chosen to be Inquisitors, but it can't be one of them. They aren't allowed to leave the Inquisitorius Headquarters until they've finished their training. And it can't be an assassin; they wouldn't use the front door. Even amateurs know that. Perhaps, Master is testing me._

He calls his lightsaber from the tool bench and clips it to his waist, ready to face whatever test his Master made for him. He stalks to the room, cloaking his Force energy, and quietly unlocks his door. On the other side, he is greeted with the face of a rabbit abomination.

"Sire, I found you!" A child's voice, high as a flute and reverberating with excitement comes through the poorly made doll for a moment. The child brings it down and reveals his face.

 _By the Dark Side, it's Master! But he's far too young to be him. But the nose! But his face is as perfect as Master's once was. Is this child his clone? It's possible for clones to have color variations. However, the long-necks haven't figured out how to make one with the Force; my Master told me so. Then, could this child possibly be his–_

"Who are you? And why do you have the same…." The child chews on his bottom lip like he's figuring out the right word, but his Master would never display his confusion. "Present-presence."

"I am Darth Vader." He intones authority, but the child just tilts his head to the side just like his Master. He prepares himself for cryptic mockery.

"Hello, Darth Vader!" He smiles brighter than twin suns.

"…..What is your name?"

"Rama Pestage, and this is Heartless!" He waves his doll, making its gangly limbs bounce off each other like a marionette with its strings cuts midway through its act.

 _Rama Pestage? Pestage? Like Sate Pestage…did Master have a child with Pestage!? No, no, this child would have that rat-faced sycophant's black hair; this child's is as white as a ghost…like Moore's. Master never explained why she left her post so suddenly almost two years ago. DID MASTER HAVE SEX WITH HER!?_

"Ow!" The child whimpers and hugs his doll tightly. "My…..insides hurt!"

"I'm sorry." As soon as the apology registers with his vocoder, he knows that his Master would be disappointed by this display of weakness. But the child, _Rama_ , nods shyly.

"I forgive you." Vader can feel a bubble of warmth pop in his chest and it satisfies him like a scrap of praise from the Chancellor's thin lips.

"You're looking for your sire?" The child nods eagerly. "He'll be here soon. Would you like to wait for him here?"

"Yes! Oh, we can talk about life day. My life day was yesterday." Vader moves aside to let his Master's _son_ in.

"Oh, and what did you do? Tell me everything."

Darth Sidious, the other and most important half of the Sith, desires a great goblet of wine. The meeting with Prince Xizor was far too predictable, which in turned bored him, but his Dark Lord wasn't here for the Falleen to _torment_. Xizor likes to believe that he's kept his secret vendetta against Vader well-hidden, but the Falleen has underestimated those that work behind the scenes of the Empire. Like Sate. His Emissary uncovered the Falleen's plans for vengeance months ago while raising the child.

 _The child…even now Sate is thinking about him, worrying about him in Kinman's care. Strange, he would've left the child in the care of that annoying Jade fellow. Unless Jade suffered some "unfortunate" accident. Or, the child wished to come to the palace. To see me? Perhaps, and that would be a better wish than clothing since I've already taken of that. 11-4D will have burned that horrible onesie by now._

11-4D will have also delivered the first set of Rama's late-winter wardrobe. There will be at least three more installments since the child has turned out to be such an inspiring muse when it comes to fashion design.

 _I should send Sate a memo about that, or, else, he'll get a heart attack when he returns to his home. I should also check on the child to make sure Kinman hasn't corrupted him; I can't afford to lose Kinman. At least, not yet._

Sidious returns to his quarters and brings out his scrying bowl from its secret compartment where he keeps his manuscripts under lock and key. He fills the bowl to the brim with the same potion he used to bring _Heartless_ into the world. He sees the child's legs kicking violently in the air, being held captive by his Apprentice.

" _Vader, Vader, put me down!" The child insists and wriggles in Vader's mechanical grasp._

" _No, you'll hurt yourself again!" The child's kicking stills._

" _It's just a scrape; it's not even red!" The child's cheeks flare with indignation, while Vader breathes something sounding like a sigh._

" _Master will be here soon." Vader bends down and looms over the doll. "Right, Master?"_

Sidious sneers and speeds to Vader's quarters; his Royal Guards remain stoically at their posts. In a blink of Rama's third eye, he slips into the room and finds the child pouting in Vader's grasp.

"Apprentince…" He coolly begins, "The child wants to be put down."

"But Master he'll trip again!" _By the rotting bones of Bane, he's become attached to the child like Amidala._

"He's a child; children need to build their pain tolerance on minor cuts and bruises." He gently imparts on him.

"But he's your child, Master." The child's pout is replaced by a happy smile; it nearly sickens him.

"Yes, and he needs to return to his father." Vader, with great reluctance in the Force, relents his hold. The child lands on his two booted feet and scoops up Heartless. He bounds up to him with a little hop in his quiet steps.

"Sire, you found me!" The child giggles incessantly, and the Force around Vader bubbles with mirth. Sidious resists glaring at his uncouth Apprentice.

"I did, and since I've won, you must return to your father." The child smiles like he's toying with a mischievous idea.

"Okay, sire. Bye-bye, Vader!" The child waves at Vader who returns the gesture rather stiffly. The bubbly mirth boils with embarrassment. The child then skips away and whistles a nursery tune about a dying lamb with Heartless in one hand.

"Apprentice, how was your time with the child?"

"Rama is Force-sensitive, Master. Why does Pestage get to raise him?" _Direct and envious as always, my Apprentice._

"The Empire requires my attention more than the child."

"If you have no time for the child, why didn't you send him to the Inquisitorius?" Sidious allows a smirk to ruin his face further.

"The Inquisitorius do well with Force-sensitives inclined to the physical, my dear Apprentice. Rama is far too cerebral and _delicate_ to be an Inquisitor." He chooses to give his apprentice a treat. "I considered sending him to the Prophets of the Dark Side."

"….They could train him, but they would have never allowed him to fulfill his potential." Sidious is pleased by Vader's logic. In the end, the Prophets will be as expendable as the Inquisitors.

"Are you suggesting that I should have handed the child to you?"

"I can raise him better than Pestage ever could."

"Perhaps, but a child would cost an inordinate amount of time. Your training and your duties would have suffered." Vader's vocoder distorts from the strength of his protests, but his Master merely regards him with cold eyes.

"Sly Moore, my former secretary, procured a sample of my DNA when she visited the Wayland laboratory. I imagined that she was hoping to create a biological heir for me." The smirk turns into his familiar sneer. "But I would have never accepted an heir through such dubious measures."

"She needs to be punished." _How wonderfully possessive but absolutely suffocating._

"She was, perhaps by the Force itself. She died in childbirth, and my Emissary found the child. If he didn't, the child would've certainly died."

"So Pestage gets the child because he found him first?" Vader accuses like a spurned lover.

"No, as my Emissary, his time is far less valuable than yours or mine. The child had already become _attached_ to him. To sever such a bond would require an adequate replacement for the child. I know Supreme Prophet Kadann would have made a poor substitute."

"…..And the Grand Inquisitor would have also been a poor choice."

 _He knows how much the Grand Inquisitor loathes children and would rather let the nanny droids care for the younglings. Yet, he suspects something rather peculiar in the Pau'an, not treasonous to the Empire, but perhaps a weakness? A secret lover? Ah, he won't investigate unless it interferes with our plans, how very Anakin of him._

"Yes, he would have been." He heaves a great sigh. "My Emissary was the best choice, my Apprentice."

"Pestage cannot teach Rama the ways of the Force, Master."

"I will teach him when he's older." He feels the apprehension, heavy as a Hutt and slimier, strangling Vader's anger.

"Have no fear, Apprentice, the child will not be trained like you are. He's far too…kind." And this promise quells his Apprentice's doubts. For now.

* * *

When Rama returns to Kinman's office, he finds his daddy there with a blade to the fool's sweaty throat. Kinman is on the tippy-toes of his dark slippers, while his daddy's dark boots are firmly rooted to the polished floor; the fool's blue eyes reflect his daddy's burning eyes. The mug lies a hundred pieces on the floor along with a datapad showing holos of a beautiful man modeling in a three-piece suit.

"Kinman, I gave you one job. Just. One!" His daddy's voice boils over with fury, which makes Rama hesitate about making his presence known.

"S-Sate, old, old buddy, y-you know what c-caf does to my bowels–" His daddy presses the blade closer causing a curve of blood to spring forth. Rama decides now to intervene with the one word to save the fool's life.

"Daddy." The tension in his daddy's shoulders melts and the blade is pulled back into the sleeve. His daddy runs to him, while Kinman exhales heavily, and Rama receives him with a tight hug.

"Oh, Rama, where have you been!?" His daddy pulls back to demand, and Rama smiles and gives him a peck on his warm cheek.

"I was with sire!" His daddy turns as white as his hair but recollects his wits within a heartbeat.

"Oh….."

"He taught me something very important."

"Oh?"

"That I'm supposed to call you _father_ , father." Out of the corner of his third eye, he sees Kinman winking at him while examining his neck with a hand mirror.

"Ah, yes, that is Naboo etiquette for you…" His _father_ smiles finally and takes his hand. "Let's go out for lunch."

"And when we come back, will you show me the throne room?"

"It all depends on the Emperor's will."

Heartless's golden orbs twinkle as they depart the offices. Sate took no notice, putting all of his focus on Rama, but Rama sees with his third eye. And he smiles mysteriously.

* * *

 **Author's Comments:** No links this time.

It's been a while since I've written a long chapter for this part in the series. Then again, a lot of this was already written in those rp-ing sessions with Darth_Videtur from long, long time ago, but I do hope this is more detailed than its origin. There's more Kinman in this one.

Next chapter will be the end of this part in the series and what better way to end it than with the annual Pestage family reunion. Stay tune for too many Pestages in the kitchen, Rama being declared boy emperor, Sate trying to convince his family that he and the Emperor aren't having an affair, and Palpatine wondering if any of this is normal.


	8. Reunion

The Emperor's Son Chapter Seven

* * *

Sate always requests the first week of the fourth standard month off. Since Sate has always been willing to work all the other days without days off, even working on the child's life day, Sidious grants the request like he always have. However, he decides to accompany Sate and the child to Ciutric IV. Through Heartless, of course.

"Rama, hold still!" Sate finally snaps at the child as the child once again shakes his head to get free of the headscarves. With a giggle and a twirl, he escapes Sate's weak hold. Sate brings a hand to his face and rubs at his left temple.

"Rama, Rama, you're still undressed." Sate insists, but Sidious disagrees.

 _Headscarves would not go with that kind of outfit. Headscarves are more suited to robes; a vest would be more appropriate with this outfit. And possibly a cape, but not with a vest! I know Sate blanked out whenever I had him "aid" me in dressing for parties when I was a senator, but I thought he picked up the rudimentary basics of fashion. Evidently, I was wrong._

"Father, headscarves are not appropriate for this outfit. First off, it clashes with the color of the cummerbund; the purple is too light to be paired with such a deep red. Second, the headscarves would pull focus from my outfit; there's only one outfit, while there are at least seven. Finally, my bow is crooked."

 _He's only one and four months old, but he's speaking in quadrisyllables. Most importantly, he's parsed Sate's fashion mistake correctly._

"Which bow, sweetie?" Sate sighs deeply.

"There are only three, father, and it's the one on my right sleeve." The child imitates sternness, but he ends it in a Kinman-like wink. He holds out his right hand

"Kinman taught you all this…" Sate grumbles and goes to fix his lacey mistake. "I wish Palpatine left some kind of instruction manual."

"He didn't need to because his faith in you is that great!" The child throws his hands up in the air and wiggles his fingers like he's about to magic up some fireworks. Sate blushes and shakes his head, while Sidious nearly gags at such childish exuberance.

"I'm not a Naboo like him, us Ciutricians aren't known for our fashion sense."

"It's a good thing I'm half-Naboo, so I can make up my other half's fashion deficiency."

 _Sate hasn't told the child of his Umbaran mother. Perhaps, he never will. It is possible that the child would be able to distinguish ultraviolet lights like Umbarans, even if he's half-Umbaran. I need to test him later, while also finding someone to teach him Umbarese…_

"But you still need to wear the headscarves, grandma and grandpa got those especially for you; they would be hurt if you didn't wear them." Sate decides to guilt the child, and Sidious rolls his eyes as the child looks down in shame.

 _The child has yet to realize his hold over Sate. He could get away with anything if only he'd figured that out, but he's only one. And Sate doesn't deserve a spoiled hellion…_

"A compromise!" The child picks up two of the widest scarves and wraps them around the side of his head like a makeshift bandana. "Ta-da!"

"Maker, you look like a Ryn!"

 _He does look like a Ryn, or a space pirate from those trashy romance holos that mother used to watch._

"But a fashionable one!" The child's thin lips twine into a familiar smile. Sidious recalls using this type of smile in soothing his opponents' egos while knocking them down into the dirt where they belonged. Yet, this smile lacks duplicity for his eyes shine with the most malicious emotion of all: love.

"You are so….."

 _Spoiled? Beguiling? Vulpine?_

"Cute!"

And this time Sidious gagged.

* * *

An assortment of fresh cheeses, grapes, and five blossom bread complement a freshly decanted bottle of blossom wine. The food is there to satisfy a vital bodily function, but the wine is what cuts through the nausea that his Emissary's paternal display inspired. He takes his time enjoying the sharpness intermingled with soft sweetness until he's drained half of the bottle. It is with slight trepidation that he returns to his scrying bowl, and he's greeted with his first glimpse of Sate's parents.

 _Inbreeding is typically reserved for beasts and royal houses, but it appears that the Hegemony practices it. Both have the same hatchet nose, the same gaunt cheeks, and the same dark eyes; the only difference is their gender. I never wanted to know what Sate would look like as a woman._

The woman lets out a banshee-like screech as the father and son walk down the ramp with a crewmate pulling a hover cart of their luggage behind them. The crewmate winces, and Sidious sympathizes as the old woman doesn't end her yowling until she traps the child in an inescapable embrace.

"Ahhhh! I finally get to meet my super cute grandson! And he smells so wonderful!" The woman practically grinds her cheeks into the child's moon-white cheeks. Sidious would've wrenched himself out of that madwoman's clutches, but the child smiles in complete adoration of all this attention.

"I had ruby wine, grandmother."

"Then, you better not have fish tonight!" The grandmother warns lightly before returning to her fawning.

"Honey, you need to give him some space." The grandfather advises; his wife pouts like a fish, but steps away.

 _Finally, an adult amongst this sea of younglings–_

The grandfather proceeds to hoist the child up in the air and catches him before hugging the child like a tooka doll.

"You're soooooooooooo soft!" The grown-man squeals like a caffeinated schoolgirl and spins the child around like a top. The child giggles relentlessly.

 _Did these softhearted fools truly raised and trained my best Force-null assassin? Or did Plagueis gave him his education? No, he'd never sully his grey hands with the Force-blind. He'd prefer that I make and trained the acolytes, presuming that they would be loyal to us. Only to me, old fool._

"Dad, you'll make Rama sick." Sate blessedly ends the twee affair, and the grandfather stops his spinning. Rama pouts briefly at Sate but then grins with all of his slightly crooked baby teeth. Sidious hopes his adult teeth will be straight.

"Dear-heart, we can't help our excitement!" The grandmother explains with pink splotching her sunken cheeks.

"Both of you comm us nightly."

"It's not the same as talking in the flesh, son." The grandfather insists.

"And not much flesh on him. Do you feed him carrots and peas?"

"No, mom, he just…..has a high metabolism." The grandparents, and even Rama, give him incredulous looks.

"Well, we're going to fill your little tummy up with so much goodies!" The grandmother baby-talks to the child, making Sidious want to overturn the bowl and return to doing folio-work.

"He can't have too much sugar." Sate warns, which mildly peaks Sidious's interest for a moment before the Emperor realizes that the story is probably as trite as the scene before him.

"Mmm-mmm!" The child shakes his head in agreement.

"Aww, but Nily has this recipe for chocolate crepes to die for."

"And Tood's wife can spin sugar into castles!"

"Is cousin Kon going to bring some of those Alderaanian delights?"

"Of course! And Great Auntie Griselda–"

To preserve his sanity and his scrying bowl, Sidious leaves his quarters and decides to teach his apprentice something more worthy of his time.

* * *

Rama plants a small peck on Heartless's nonexistent cheek, hoping it'll reach his sire. He presumes his sire must be away doing very important work for his Empire because Heartless's eyes aren't as lively as they were ten minutes ago. He wishes his sire could see the city with him.

 _There's so many people about just like at home, but they're not jammed in like nasty sardines in tin cans. It's so big here like they knew that the city would take over half the planet!_

The cityscape lacks the imposing design of Coruscant. Daplona prefers stubby buildings and less reflective metals, indicating to him that the original city planners had a very limited vision for its future. However, he appreciates that the sky, blue like fairytale water, has been left unrivaled. He wonders if the people in the city can see the stars at night.

The hover car veers its final left, and, a handful of minutes later, the buildings turn into distant sentinels. Green grasses and labyrinthine hedges pass him by in a blink before the hover car pulls up at a house colored in with charcoal. The house juts out with two cylindrical towers. Gray cones top the towers, and he wonders if a princess with magical hair will pop out from one the windowed sills.

"How many people can fit in this house, grandmother?" He patiently waits as his grandmother works through her gushing while his father unstraps him from the toddler seat.

"Oh, a comfortable three-hundred, sweet pea!" His eyes boggles at the enormity, mostly because he hasn't made it past a hundred in his counting lessons.

"Does the whole family live here?" He hears his father snort, while grandfather guffaws.

"Oh no! Only about twenty-five of the family live here including us." His father raises an eyebrow at that number.

"Did Aunt Nell and her brood move out?"

"Actually, it was Cousin Dyll; he remarried Sophie."

"Sophie of Corellia or Sophie of Taanab?"

"The one with the funny–" Grandmother racks her mind, but she stops at the screams. Children, varied in skin tone but all with dark hair, run up like they ate an entire jar of hazelnut spread. The shortest ones try hopping up and down to get a glimpse inside of the car. Rama counts twenty heads.

"Is that Aunt Nell's brood?" He marvels at their number; he's never been this close to other children before. Even at the park that Mister Jade took him to, the children were too absorbed with their parents or each other to spare him a thought. But these children are demanding him:

" _Wanna play hide and seek?"_

" _Swim in the pool with me?"_

" _Won't you come out and play?"_

" _What's your name?"_

"No, sweetie. Nell only has four and they're older than them." His father assures and then mutters under his breath, " _And they're in that stage of being pubescent asses._ "

He sees the parents of these children, his cousins, running right after them. Half of the fathers have the same worn face, but their hairs varied in color and length. The mothers and other fathers are pale and dark-haired like his father. Their parents herd them inside like naughty shaaks. The adults finally get out of the car; grandmother and grandfather say they'll get the repulsor carts for the luggage.

"Finally, it's safe to go!" His father smiles playfully at him, and Rama holds out his arms to be picked up. His father picks him up and takes him out of the car. Poor Heartless is sandwiched between them like the two ladies on Kinman's holo-calendar.

"Father?"

"Yes, sweetie?"

"Which room will be ours?"

"My room, of course."

"And Heartless' too?"

"And Heartless's too."

His father kisses him on his nose, and he kisses right back.

* * *

Sate hasn't been in the house in a year, but it's nearly the same as he left it. Brown muddy footprints stain the yellow Selonian marble, but the cleaning droid is currently busy trying to remove the chocolate stains on the lavender curtains. He smiles as Rama wrinkles his nose as the cigarra smoke wafts into the entryway; Great Uncle Nehoc always forgets to crack open a window. 3, 2, 1, the Kitchen Squad's captain, Cousin Lise, chews him out, and Nehoc rasps back at her. He covers Rama's ears and quickly goes up the steps before their terse words turn into curses.

He swerves in time to miss one of Nell's brood running away in tears, while Nell herself chases after the lass, shouting all the while that she didn't need her good-for-nothing girlfriend. The mother and daughter disappear into the east wing, while the father and son go west. On the first door to their right, Sate pulls down the silver handle and pushes it forward.

His bedroom is how he left it. His queen-sized poster bed has their luggage on top of the royal purple quilt; he presumes his parents cheated by using the emergency turbolift. The nightstand has a red, scented candle and guesses that it'll either smell like cinnamon or poppies. The desk has the datapad of a novel he read last year; he can't remember much of the novel except that it had something to do with dragons and unrequited love, but he knows that if he reads it again he'll need a box of wine. The green tissue box is right by it, taunting him with its fullness. Finally, his eyes drift up to the piece of art that tormented him until he met Sheev Palpatine, his irresistible hell.

"Daddy, why is sire half-naked?" Rama innocently asks and points at that landscape-style holo-poster. The poster contains a young ginger man with a hawkish nose and even longer hair. He's draped in a red synthsilk robe that shows off his long legs along with a sneak peek of his tantalizing chest. He raises a golden chalice of blood, while lounging like a pleased nexu on the crimson chaise. He wears the most bewitching smile, flashing his abnormally long canines. Lightning flashes through the windows and illuminates the young man's monstrous shadow against the red walls. The poster is signed in an unrecognizable language.

"That's not Palpatine. It's Ambrose Bloodstar."

"Is that sire's true name?"

"No! Ambrose Bloodstar is the best character of the _Theatre Vampire_ series, breathed into magnificent existence by Satan. He's a theater actor with no relations at all to Emperor Palpatine."

"Is _Satan_ his real name?"

"Oh, I doubt it, sweetie. It's most likely a stage name."

"What's the series about?"

"At first, it follows the brief human life and then undead life of Set du Lac. Ambrose decided to turn Set into his vampire fledging because the whiney blonde happened to be rich and couldn't stand the whiney blonde wasting it. Or, at least, that's what Set believes. Actually, Ambrose was woefully lonely and not adjusting to the Industrial Age too well."

"What year was the play set in?"

"I'm not sure. You see the whole series takes place in this fictional universe where the Force didn't exist and usually in that particular universe everything took place on this planet called _Earth_. Although, I've heard _Middle-Earth_ be used, but that's usually reserved for the fantasy genre. The play takes place in this distant past where everything was steam-powered."

"Did Ambrose love Set even though he was whiney?"

"Unfortunately so. But Ambrose was just so charismatic that he dominated most of the series until Satan became too old to play the role. Ugh, he could've easily continued the series if they just made up something like a witch cursing him to age! But I guess he couldn't play a vampire forever."

"So he died?" Rama's thin mouth trembles like he might whine.

"Oh no, sweetie, he and Set flew together off into the night to explore life beyond the stars." He completely leaves out the complicated love triangle with Myrtle, Set's human wife that got cursed by a witch to die in the arms of her beloved and never have eternal rest, doomed to eternal reincarnation. However, over her nearly twenty lifetimes, she got to know about Set's sire/on-and-off-again-lover and on her last incarnation she fell in love with him. Ambrose returned it by breaking her millennia-long curse, and she died in his arms. Only after her final death did Ambrose and Set could finally be together.

"Did Set come back after that?"

"Mercifully no." He smiles as Rama hugs Heartless. He gives his son a hug, relishing in his softness and cuteness.

"UNCLE SATE, CAN RAMA PLAY!" Gris bangs on the door like the hyperactive toddler that he is.

"The door was open." He sighs and turns to face the toddler. The toddler grins, revealing that he's lost his front buck tooth, and sways like he can't stand still for a moment.

"Well, Rama, do you want to play?" He asks and nearly squeals as Rama hums while he thinks. Just like Palpatine used to when he was a Chancellor and deciding who would be next to receive his legendary snark.

"I want to, father." Rama wiggles to be put down, and Sate complies. Rama takes one booted foot forward before he turns around and holds up Heartless. "Will you take care of Heartless, please?"

 _I can never get tired of him saying "please!"_ Sate coughs to control his paternal squeals.

"Of course, sweetie!" He takes Heartless, and Rama scampers away to play with his cousin. He looks down at Heartless and wonders if he should just toss the misshapen doll onto the luggage. However, his privacy is disturbed again when his mom barges in with her signature "Kill the Cook" apron.

"C'mon, it's time for you to help cook!" He groans but allows himself to be dragged away by his nearly hundred-year-old mom. All the while, he holds onto Heartless.

* * *

Darth Sidious returns to his scrying bowl with a cup of freshly steeped kopi tea. The sun has just set on Coruscant, and the self-titled sun is reflected in his tea. With a wave of his left hand, he returns to the sappy hell of a family reunion. Heartless shows him that the world has gone sideways, or, in actuality, someone left the deformed shadow on its side. But he sees something far worse than treacle grandparents: bad interior design.

 _It's neon. The kitchen is neon purple and the floor is checkered! Whose bright idea was to paint the cabinets gold!? Darth Bane, preserve me._ He looks down at his tea and wishes that he had chosen wine instead.

"Sooooo, Sate," A woman nearly as old as Sate with silver curls purrs, "how is it?"

"How's what, Grrtrude?" Sate asks without taking his eyes off the fryer. Sidious sees that Sate's sticky, yellow hands are busy battering a mound of perfectly sliced vegetables.

"The Emperor?" The woman's green eyes glitter with a familiar malice.

"The Emperor is just fine." Sate grunts just like he's dealing with Kinman.

" _Just fine_? Huh, I thought you would be a better lover to him." Sate turns sharply to glare at her with his cheeks as pink as the underside of a newborn gualama. Sidious realizes that she would've been perfect for Kinman some two decades ago when he had his "assassin" fetish.

"We are not lovers!" Sate insists as though he's had this argument thousands of times before. Sidious rolls his eyes and drinks his tea.

"Uh huh, why would he let you raise his kid then?" The lilac screen door bangs open as Sate's mother comes in with a tray filled with crumbs.

"Grrtrude, what are you tormenting my sweet boy over this time?"

"Nothing but the truth, Auntie. Rama is the Emperor's son, right?" Sate's mother raises a bored brow.

"Yes, he is."

"Mom!" Sate's face goes completely pink like Kinman's scandalized him again.

"Honey, everyone in the family knows this. Rama's practically his clone minus his green eyes and third eye." Sate's mother sighs with loving patience. "And we also know about you and the Emperor. Which really isn't surprising considering your huge crush on that theater actor; they're practically identical twins."

"T-There's nothing–"

Sate's mother levels him a disbelieving look that cuts off his protest.

"We've known for decades, and if you two want to be extremely private about it, then it's okay."

"Does everyone in the family believe that!?" Sate bemoans and briefly returns his attention to the fryer, quickly rescuing several cucumber spears from being burnt. He uses tongs to put the spears onto the tray. His mother moves to leave and uses one hand to pry open the door, and she then shouts like a bellicose Gungan.

"WHO'S SATE WITH!?"

" _PALPATINE! EMPEROR! RAMA'S FATHER!"_

A chorus of women, men, clones, and some bored children shouted back at her, much to his utter humiliation. Sidious rolls his eyes once more and drains the rest of his tea.

"Moooooooom! What if Rama heard that?" Sate then gasps, and Sidious knows that the mutant-toddler just appeared.

"Mmm, 'm hungry." Sidious hears Rama yawn like a reedy sheep and then sighs when he hears the Pestage women squeal. He sees the grandmother put the tray on the table and then bend down to pick up Rama. Rama stares at him with his sleepy, green eyes. He has a smile playing across his thin lips. The grandmother picks up a spear and puts the golden-fried tip to the child's mouth. He takes a small bite and lets out a pleased sigh.

 _Rama is the only one with any dignity._ Sidious concludes as the child continues munching on the greasy snack.

"Heartless." The child's tiny hands reach out to the misshapen doll. The grandmother quickly picks up Heartless and the child mercifully snuffs out the mediocre kitchen. A second later he's greeted with Rama's hawkish nose and then a close-up on his bright green eyes. The child has kissed the doll, but he knows that the kiss is intended for him.

He feels a nauseous yet not an entirely unwelcome pang of positive emotion go through his heart. He waves a gnarled hand over the bowl and cuts himself off from the child. He then decides to comb through his Sith tomes for a way to rid himself of emotion.

Unfortunately, he never finds one.

* * *

The bright blue of sky gives way to the inky indigos and poxes shaped like white stars. Then, a splash of purple, red, and yellow lights pinwheel across the night. They leave behind white and gray smoke in their death bangs.

And it repeats itself for nearly an hour.

When the fireworks first started, Rama's attention was on Heartless. He had hope that sire would be here with them, to witness the light show. But after the first two minutes, he gave up hope and just focused on his father.

His brown eyes reflect the colors, while his pinched lips are curled up into such a pure smile. Rama can't help but smile along with him.

The family, far more than a hundred, surround them, a sea of whites, purples, browns, greens, and headscarves. Tall and small, young and old, but all humans watch the fireworks.

"This is how we mark the beginning of the reunion, Rama." His father finally speaks after the last lights, purple and red, peter out.

"How do we mark the end, father?"

"You'll see, son, you'll see."

* * *

 **Author's Comments:** Here are the links-

Here is an image of Sate Pestage's yacht. In Legends/EU, he had more than enough money to have two. However, neither got named, so I decided to name the one because I doubt Sate will get a second one in this universe since he has a kid to spoil: a href=" . /revision/latest?cb=20150823062222"Link/a

Here is an image of the first Death, played so memorably by Julian Richings, because that's who I modeled Sate after. But not entirely since Death is way, way too cool. Sorry, Sate, but if you were completely like Death, you'd probably have seduced Palpatine or get killed by Sidious. So maybe you lucked out in that regard by not being cool: a href=" . /antigod/images/6/65/Death_a_la_Julian_ /revision/latest?cb=20140321195527"Link/a

Rama's outfit is inspired by the Edwardian style, which I somewhat imagined was the fashion trend in Palpatine's childhood. But of course Rama has to add the Pestage flair because (S) P + S = R: a href=" /images/I/611oTS12N1L._UY879_.jpg"Link/a

Here is an image of the house that inspired the Pestage manor. I was really tempted to use one of the Wayne manors or the X-Mansion for the Pestage estate, but I don't think the Pestages are that melodramatic: a href=" . "Link/a

During the interrogation of Sate's love life, if Palpatine were there, I'd imagine he'd do something very similar to Sherlock. However, it wouldn't end with Sate's protest, but a heart attack: a href=" /ka_mPfFD50Y?t=40"Link/a

 _Ciutrician_ is a term I made up for those hailing from Ciutric IV because the Wookie gave me nothing for a demonym.

I know in the past that Anne Rice wasn't a huge fan of fan-fiction about her most famous vampire series, so I decided to play it safe and just do a parody on it. While also dragging _Paradise Lost_ 's Satan into this because Ian McDiarmid's voice.

Finally, this story is done. Thanks to all who stuck around for this, and hopefully you'll want to read the next part. The next part is supposed to be another multi-chapter story involving Maul because I've been waiting to write him for nearly two years!


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